


The First Kiss

by allthebeautifulthings9828



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Castiel Angst, Comfort/Angst, Domestic Fluff, Fallen Castiel, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluffy Ending, Happy Ending, Human Castiel, Hurt Castiel, Kissing, Love, M/M, Post Episode: s08e23 Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-01
Updated: 2013-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-13 15:55:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/826079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthebeautifulthings9828/pseuds/allthebeautifulthings9828
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Castiel slides into depression and blaming himself for the angels falling, Dean isn't sure how to help him. Sam worries that Castiel might be letting himself die. What can Dean confess that will give him the hope to keep living?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Kiss

The first day, Castiel only rolled over once. Suddenly changing species was exhausting business, Dean guessed, but the worry still tugged at his gut. Sam slept like the dead after he got his soul back, and then he snapped. Sleeping that deeply for so long came as nothing short of a blazing red flag that made Dean poke his head into his room every hour on the hour. He didn't know what he was looking for - maybe just the sense of strange relief that came with seeing Castiel hadn't left again.

Still, the way the former angel cocooned himself in Dean's blankets, his motionless body forming an indentation in the memory foam, made Dean uneasy. He wondered, as he crept through the room and leaned over the bed, if having his grace ripped from his body could kill him. He wasn't an angel doctor. Castiel could have been slowly bleeding to death right there in his bed and he wouldn't have known it.

Days passed. Sometimes Castiel awoke, but never spoke a word, nor did his face express anything except shell shock. It reminded Dean of the day he left the broken angel in the mental institution utterly tormented by Sam's trauma. Each night, Dean made himself a makeshift sleeping bag with old ratty blankets and pillows on the floor at the end of the bed. It all smelled of mold but he couldn't very well get into bed with the wounded angel. Well, that was the problem. He wasn't an angel anymore. Something about that hurt Dean and he retreated into relative silence, a vigilant watcher, and Sam steered clear of both of them.

"Dean,” Sam said on the second day, approaching him cautiously. "How is he?”  
Dean simply shook his head.

"You gotta make him drink something,” he replied.

"What?”

It seemed to pain Sam to have to spell it out for his brother. His eyes flashed to the floor. "He's human now. Humans can't survive without food and water.” His voice trailed off, but in a moment, his eyes darkened and caught his brother off guard. "Cas isn't stupid. He knows the human body can't live long without food and water. He hasn't gotten out of bed. He hasn't even tried. After everything he's been through…” Sam's mouth thinned into a pensive line. "Just be careful.”

A flash of rage ignited Dean's green eyes. "I can't believe you think Cas…” A realization fell over him all too suddenly and his clenched fists relaxed as the memory of Castiel telling Dean in the hotel that he was afraid he'd kill himself. He stopped short, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Sam had picked up on it first and that pissed him off, though he didn't know why. "I got it,” he said gruffly.

"He'll listen to you more than anyone,” Sam called after Dean as the older brother trudged toward the bedroom. And in those words, Dean thought he heard Sam imply something in the tone of his voice.

Silence and darkness greeted Dean in his room as he marched toward the lump of brand new humanity. He switched on the light. A golden artificial glow illuminated the dark circles around Castiel's eyes, the dark, coarse beard coming in fuller each time Dean checked on him, and the utter stillness in his body. He lay on his side with the blankets tightly encasing him to the throat like a six foot burrito. Dean hesitated. Castiel as a human appeared smaller and more fragile despite not changing a thing about his vessel when his grace was stolen. This wasn't the tough nerdy dude with wings anymore. This was a man broken by humanity being forced on him. How do you talk someone into wanting to live?

"Cas.” Jerking, awkward limbs brought Dean to a seat on the edge of the bed. He cleared his throat but the former angel didn't move. "Cas, you gotta start taking care of yourself.”

There was still no reaction whatsoever, although bright blue eyes opened.

"Damn it, Cas!” A burst of frustration spilled from Dean's mouth before he could stop it.

The blankets jerked with Castiel's startled body and he blinked, clearly confused by the sensation of being startled. Taking a breath, Dean leaned over on his thighs and rubbed his eyes.

"Look man, I know you've been through a lot—”

"—My entire family was murdered in front of me, Dean. I'm alive because it's my fault. I'm not fit for being an angel. I'm not fit for being human. I'm a poor excuse for existence.” He paused with grim determination furrowing his brow and turning his full mouth downward. "The sooner this is over, the better off the universe will be.”

So Sam was right. Dean knew Castiel better than any other human, he thought, and he recognized the complete truth in those words. The former angel believed with his entire being that he deserved to die.

"So you're going to let yourself starve to death then? You're just going to lie down and give up? Die in my bed?”

"I'm sorry, Dean.”

"Bullshit.” Furious, Dean shot to his feet and paced. He realized as his heart pounded harder that he wasn't so much angry as he was terrified. "It's fucking bullshit, Cas. My mother is dead. My father is dead. Basically everyone I ever loved is dead and I couldn't do a damn thing to stop it. Some of them are dead because of me. Do you see me curled up in a ball hoping to die as some kind of self-righteous punishment? No. I keep fucking going. I live for Sammy, for Charlie, for everyone who died, because if I give up now, their deaths mean nothing.”

"You're not me, Dean.” Castiel rolled over, facing the middle of the bed, his back to Dean once again. His voice sounded muffled by the pillow. "I don't have anything to live for anymore.”

It jolted Dean to the core of his soul. A fleeting thought entered his mind that Castiel might even have a soul now and the nuclear reactor inhabiting his new body might not be a sensation he could understand. The flood of emotion Castiel must have been experiencing probably overwhelmed him to the point of anger and despair. Dean knew his go-to comfort zone was anger. He held onto it and nurtured it to give him the fuel he needed to keep pushing forward. At the same time, Castiel never held onto anger the way he did. His fuel had to come from another place. It had to come from something more real. Dean braced himself, knowing what he had to do. The risk of exposing himself — exposing the secret he'd been carrying since they were in Purgatory — weighed heavily on his chest. He had to do it. He had to man up and tell the truth.

Dean rounded the bed and put himself in Castiel's line of vision again. "You can't do this to me, man,” he said all too quietly. "Not now.”

Blue eyes blinked and his head tilted against the pillow in the most subtle question.

Okay, here went nothing. Dean sat on the edge of the mattress and searched for the right words. Saying what he felt never came easy. Too many chick flicks with girls he used to try to nail grossed him out.

"We're family, you idiot,” he blurted but tried to retract the harsh words entirely too late. "You're saying you don't deserve to live because your whole family got killed. Well, tough shit. So did mine. I rebuilt my own family instead. Sammy, Bobby, Ellen, Jo, Charlie, you know? That's what we do. We find people to trust and who have our backs.” Dean let it swim around Castiel's mind for a minute. He wasn't sure if he had any affect on his broken heart, but there was no turning back now. "You found me. I found you. If you give up now, then everything we've been through means nothing.”

"You haven't had faith in me.” Castiel pulled his eyes from Dean's face and burrowed deeper into the pillow. He resembled a child uncertain of the future.

"If you let yourself die, I sure the hell won't have faith in you.” The words came out like bullets but Castiel needed to be pushed. Haltingly, Dean's hand slid across the sheets and touched the rough skin of Castiel's vessel — now his own hand. "You have to live for family. It's what we all do.”

Castiel's face relaxed into a thoughtful, yet despairing expression.

A sigh filled Dean's broad chest and he knew the former angel wasn't catching on to his subtle choice of words. His weight shifted on the bed until he spread lengthwise, resting his head on the pillow before Castiel, and locking eyes with him mere inches from his face. Initially, they both tensed having never quite been that close. Dean felt short, warm puffs of Castiel's breath tickling his face.

"Dean…” The gravely voice sounded muted and questioning.

"I'll be your family, Cas. I need you.” Dean spoke in such a quiet voice that he hoped he wouldn't have to repeat the dreaded vulnerability. He didn't want to have to explain that he'd been in love with his best friend for more than a year. "Be my family and I'll be yours. That means no more disappearing. No more secrets. Make your home here.”

Castiel's thin, dark eyebrow lifted just slightly. "With you.”

"Yeah.” Dean's lips pulled into a smirk more from anxiety than finding it funny.

Silence filled the minuscule gap between them. He didn't dare move. If Castiel chose to die even after begging him to live for Dean, he wanted to commit their closeness to memory. Sam would never know that he fell in love with a dude. He didn't count himself as gay or even bi. Castiel was simply different. He was beautiful, broken, tough, a fierce warrior, and everything Dean needed in a companion. The gender of his vessel was of such little consequence, but outsiders wouldn't understand. So Dean savored the closeness of his body and braced himself for the end.

Castiel pulled his hand out from under Dean's, breaking his thoughts, and moved languidly. He knew nothing of hesitation. He had been a multidimensional celestial wavelength of intent, after all, and foraged ahead with decisions once they were made. Long, slender fingers splayed over the surface of Dean's chest in a careful study. Then Dean realized Castiel could no longer see into him as he once could. Pain clouded the blue-eyed man's face with that loss. The only thing Dean knew to do was to squeeze Castiel's hand in comfort as it pressed against his chest, but Castiel retracted his hand and looked Dean in the eye once more. All too familiar human emotion changed the shade of Castiel's eyes, and although he probably didn't understand everything he felt, he knew enough to brush Dean's lips under his fingertips. Dean's breath caught in his throat. It took everything he had not to bolt off the bed in fear of his father seeing them from beyond the grave. John Winchester didn't raise no sissy boy. His need for Castiel overrode the judgement of outsiders.

"Don't leave again,” pleaded Dean. The foreignness of speaking what he felt made Dean shift uncomfortably.

Lifting off the pillow, Castiel tilted over him until Dean acquiesced into submission on his back. Bearded and rough looking, the new human tested his new heart. He bent to Dean's mouth with his own and sealed his promise not to leave again with his first kiss as a human being.


End file.
